


Wolf and Hound: The Case of the Baker Street Murders

by zealousprince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Marauders, Modern Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousprince/pseuds/zealousprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in a world where magicals are a newly emerging and misunderstood breed. Remus Lupin and his faithful hound Padfoot are magic consultants for Scotland Yard. Charged with solving magic-related crimes around the city, they prowl the streets while fighting to keep their own demons at bay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf and Hound: The Case of the Baker Street Murders

**Author's Note:**

> my piece for the R/S Games 2014, finally edited anew.
> 
> huge thanks and much love to Sophie ([Phiso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phiso)) for the beta. This time it's actually thematically appropriate for me to say: I would be lost without my editor.

Detective Inspector James Potter scowls at the mess of blood covering the flat’s main room. Behind him, Sergeant Peter Pettigrew makes a gagging noise and backs hurriedly out of the room. James would roll his eyes, but he’s aware he has a bit of a stronger stomach than most.

“I’ll just wait out here, then,” says Peter in a weak voice.

“That’d be best,” a kindly voice says next to him. The owner of the voice pats him on the shoulder as he passes as a gesture of goodwill and enters the room in his place.

James turns to look at him. He’s a youngish man, plain of face and dress, whose only real distinguishing features are the faint scars criss-crossing his skin. There’s a long one, stretching from his temple to his chin, that catches the light as he turns his head to survey the room. Here is a man who’s seen too much to be really surprised at the gruesome scene before him now, but James supposes that comes with the job of magic consultant. Individuals in his position are stretched thin these days, what with the recent outbreak of magic-involved crime. There just aren’t enough of his people to go around.

“See anything, Lupin?” James asks.

Lupin frowns, looking around again, then lifting his head as though smelling something in the air. “Not sure yet. Can I bring him in?”

It has about a fifty percent chance of causing a crime scene contamination nightmare, but he says, “All right.”

Lupin turns and calls down the hall, “Padfoot!”

There’s a strange kind of step in the hall, then a huge black dog comes trotting into view, startling the still-recovering Peter out of the way. The dog pauses at the doorway of the room, its big shaggy head swiveling like it’s taking a look around, then it goes right up to Lupin, who places a palm gently on its head. James likes dogs well enough, but this one is more than half his height while standing, so one can’t really blame him for being nervous.

Still, it’s a valuable pet to have. Even with Lupin silently ordering it to sit still, it’s looking about and sniffing in that eager, doggy way it has. James’ hopes begin to peak.

“Ready?” Lupin asks it. The dog gives one loud, booming bark that rattles the window panes. “All right, all right, I see how it is. Let’s go, then.”

Lupin and the dog take stock of the room, carefully stepping over trails and pools of blood as they go slowly about the room. The dog pokes and sniffs in every crevice it can find, all while keeping its gently wagging tail from accidentally dipping in any gorey puddles. James watches it closely, arms crossed.

Peter finally reappears beside him, looking pale. “Well?”

“Give them a moment,” James says, and goes back to his vigil.

Another few long minutes of this, then the dog lifts its head and whines expressively, nudging Lupin’s hand with its nose.

“Finished?” Lupin says, like he and the dog are actually having a conversation. “Seen all you need to see?”

The dog barks again and wags its tail, then turns to look right at James . James feels slightly foolish holding a dog’s gaze as long as he does, but like hell he’s going to be the first to look away.

“Detective Inspector,” says Lupin. “The bodies?”

“Back at the morgue by now. I imagine Lily would let you have a look at them. Tell her hello and I love you to bits for me.”

“Will do. Come along, Padfoot.”

The dog pads silently after Lupin as he leaves the room. Peter steps back to give it space as it passes, and flinches as the dog’s tail slaps, very casually, against his shin. He waits until both Lupin and his dog have left the flat before exhaling loudly.

“All right, Pete?” says James.

“I don’t know about those two, mate,” Peter says heavily. “They seem...off, to me.”

James shrugs, but something in his eyes half-agrees. “He’s the best we’ve got. _They’re_ the best we’ve got. We need to trust them. For now.”

“If they’re the best we’ve got, then why do we keep losing the trail? That’s two more people turned up dead by magical means, and we’re no closer to finding out who keeps doing it.”

James is silent for a long moment, staring unseeingly out at the crime scene. He doesn’t exactly trust Lupin, considering what he is, but he’s never known him to be anything but devoted to the cause of justice. He has the scars to prove it.

“I don’t know,” James says finally. “There’s something missing. Something this magic business is making all muddled.”

“Magic be damned,” Pettigrew grumbles, and James sort of agrees with that, too.

=====

Nobody says anything as Remus Lupin and his dog walk right into the university housing the morgue. They’ve seen them around here often enough, that odd pair working with the police. Less than half the people working at the university have the necessary clearance to know _how_ they’re working with the police, exactly, but Lupin has always supposed that that would change in due time. After all, the kind of crimes he and Padfoot were investigating were becoming more and more frequent. It was only a matter of time before that whole secret blew wide open.

Padfoot gently bumps against his hip as they walk, and looks obliquely up at him. His way of saying “all right?”.

“I’m fine,” Remus assures him. “Just a little tired.”

Padfoot gives him a doubtful look, but lets it go for now seeing as they’re approaching the morgue doors. It’s about as cold down here as it is outside, but at least it’s dry. Remus knocks on the steel double-doors then lets himself in.

The coroner raises her head and says, “Is that you, Remus?”

“It’s us, yeah. All right, Lily?”

“All right. Oh, pup,” Lily Evans says to Padfoot, “you know the rules. You have to stay outside.”

The dog gives her a challenging look which Lily returns in kind, and eventually Padfoot snorts and backs out of the doorway and into the hall.

“I won’t be too long,” Remus promises, and lets the door swing closed.

“I’ll never get over how smart he seems,” Lily says. “Oh, and I’d give you a hug, but--” She lifts the hands she’d been busy washing blood and Lord knows what else off of.

“Save it for next time, I’m on police business.” Remus looks around. “Do you have the bodies from the case on Baker Street?”

“Now doesn’t that sound like something straight from a detective novel! But yes, they’re right over here. I was just getting started on them.”

The two bodies are laid out on metal tables in the centre of the cold room, undressed and washed. Their pale skin has an eerie sheen in the lamp light, marred only by the mess of wide, red slashes forming a mesh upon the surface of each corpse’s torso. The wounds are deep and would have drawn a lot of blood. Remus can already tell that’s likely to be the cause of death.

“Walk me through it?” he says to Lily, who is approaching the table with a fresh pair of gloves. She hands him a pair, switches on the voice recorder hanging from the ceiling, and leans to survey the first body.

“Caradoc Dearborn, white male, age thirty. No marks on the body so far except for all these slashes,” she says. “No defensive wounds either, so I’d say the victim was already unconscious or otherwise immobilized before the cutting began.”

Remus leans in closer, probing the edge of one long cut with his fingertips. The slashes are perfectly straight and clean, with no ripping or tearing of the flesh. Even, precise slices that, up close, still have the faint whiff of magic about them. Remus frowns.

“Padfoot was right. Magic was used in that room, probably to create these wounds.”

Lily looks up at him in alarm. “Magic can do this? That’s horrible.”

“It shouldn’t be used for this,” Remus says grimly.

Lily struggles with this for a while, her eyes on the gruesome marks. She’s more good-hearted than most people Remus knows, but seeing only the evil that magic can do makes it difficult for even the most open-minded of people to accept it.

After a few tense moments, Lily keeps going with her examination. She determines the cause of death of both people to be blood loss, but saves her final judgement for after the autopsy.

“Want to stay for this part, Remus?”

“No, thanks. I’ve seen all I need to see here. Got to get on with the investigation.”

“All right.” Lily averts her eyes for just a moment, then stares him straight in the face, searching. “Before you go, tell me...what can magic do? Besides--” She gestures to the victims lying on their cold beds. “--this?”

Remus peels off his gloves and sighs. “Plenty of things. It can heal or harm. It can build or destroy. It can entertain or horrify. It all depends on what you do with it. Every magical’s skill level is different, but essentially, the sky’s the limit.”

“Then if it’s so powerful, why haven’t we heard anything about it until now?”

“I don’t know.” Remus looks back one more time at the victims’ lifeless bodies. “Maybe they were afraid.”

Lily doesn’t say anything more as he turns to go. He tosses his soiled gloves into the appropriate bin and washes his hands thoroughly. The water is punishingly hot.

Remus pauses at the door. The silence behind him is tense.

He turns back towards Lily and says, “I know a man. A magical. Having a bit of a hard time of it. His family, they’re--not the nice kind of magicals.”

Lily looks up. “And him?”

“Decent. Surprisingly so. Bit of a prat sometimes, but...he’s dear to me. He’s a good man, who uses his abilities to do good.”

Lily thinks about this for a while, then something in her expression clears. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“The Detective Inspector says hello. And that he loves you to bits.”

Lily laughs. “Oh, that James!”

“See you soon.”

“Take care. Oh, and Remus?”

Remus pauses halfway out the door and looks back at her. Her smile is uncertain but kind.

“I don’t know how much this matters to you,” she says slowly, “but I think--I think you’re a good man, too.”

Remus ducks his head, smiles shyly, and leaves.

=====

They get caught in the rain on the way back. Both Remus and his dog are soaked to the bone by the time they return to their flat.

Padfoot starts to shake himself off in the narrow front hall, but Remus stops him with a look, so all the dog does is sneeze. Remus drags off his sopping coat and hangs it up to drip.

"Bath?" he asks.

Padfoot just sneezes again, pointedly. Remus rolls his eyes. "You can go first if you like."

Padfoot shuffles forward to rub his side against Remus' hip. Remus' trouser leg would be soaked now if it weren't already.

Remus sighs good-naturedly and places a hand on Padfoot's huge head. "If you want to say something," he says patiently, "you could just turn back."

In the blink of an eye, Padfoot's dog form has morphed into a human one. He's a handsome young man with long black hair matted with rain. He’s a bit on the lean side, with a wild edge in his eyes, but his grin is full of warmth and cheer.

"Sorry," Padfoot says, "I forget sometimes. Gotten too used to being a dog."

When he unfolds himself from the floor, he's taller than Remus, fact made evident when he wraps his arms around Remus' shoulders and leans against him. Remus staggers under his weight, laughing, then yelps as Padfoot presses his nose against his neck.

"Sirius! That's cold!"

" _I'm_ cold," the man named Sirius complains. "Warm me up."

"Go take a bath!"

"Come with me."

"Mangy mutt!"

When Sirius growls, it's dog-like, but his hands are affectionate and inviting, and Remus soon stops protesting.

They're in the bath together a few minutes later, having discarded their wet, freezing clothes in the hall. Remus wouldn’t admit this to anyone but he’s gotten rather used to this, having Sirius around, and being close and tender while together in the privacy of his flat. It’s not something he’s had often before Sirius appeared on his doorstep, all those months ago.

The thought makes him smile, just a little in the corner of his mouth. Sirius catches it and nudges closer to nuzzle his now-warmed nose against Remus’ cheek. They’re sitting in warm water up to their shoulders, folded together with Sirius’ arms around Remus’ waist. Sirius sighs gently, curling against him, and Remus can tell he’s gotten used to this, too.

“So…” Remus says.

“So…?” Sirius answers with suggestive languor.

“The case.”

Sirius ducks his head against Remus’ shoulder and sighs long-sufferingly. Clearly, he had a little something else in mind, but he says, “Yes. The case.”

“So it was magic, then.”

“Yeah. Definitely. Strong magic, too,” Sirius adds darkly. “Reminded me of my family a little. Nasty, bad, hateful stuff. Little wonder the non-magicals have it out for us, honestly.”

Remus thinks about this for a while, his hands curled around Sirius’. Sirius shifts behind him, presumably to make himself more comfortable, but Remus can feel his discomfort and disdain behind the affected nonchalance.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him.

“For what?” Sirius says haughtily. “You haven’t done a thing.”

“For bringing it up, I mean.”

Sirius snorts and slides his hands down Remus’ torso to tell him it’s all right. Remus wiggles as Sirius’ fingers hit a ticklish spot, and for a few moments the discussion devolves into a tickle fight, complete with some mild splashing. Remus finally has to twist around and push Sirius’ arms back just to get him to desist, and Sirius throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing in the tiny bathroom.

“The case!” Remus insists, his eyes dancing.

“All right! Magic, strong magic, bad magic. Vengeful, maybe. Strong intent behind it, for sure. I’d have to track it back to the source to be certain.”

“Then let’s do that.”

“Fine. But after supper,” Sirius murmurs, his hands gliding up Remus’ sides, and Remus agrees.

=====

Midnight. The rain has stopped, and the almost-full moon reflects off of puddles dark as oil slicks. Remus and Sirius, now back in dog form, step silently through a London backalley, all senses alert.

They’re far enough from any main roads that the sounds of traffic come to them only faintly, just a rumble on the edge of consciousness. Sirius has his nose to the ground, sniffing out the trail. Remus follows from a few steps behind, absently answering a text message from Detective Inspector Potter to decline any police backup, as usual. It’s best for everyone that way. Sirius doesn’t like to be watched by anyone but Remus when he’s on the prowl, and most of the officers under DI Potter’s command are unnerved by anything to do with magic, even when it is on their side.

Remus sighs through his nose, watching his breath go to steam. His bones ache, but he’s used to that. There’s a freshly scarred laceration on his leg that pulls noticeably, but it should be fine. It’s not the physical pain that needles him, tonight.

Sirius’ ears perk and he twists around to look up at Remus, sensing his discomfort. Remus gives him an encouraging smile. This seems to satisfy Sirius, because after a lingering look he returns to the hunt.

“We’re a long way off from where we started,” Remus says, looking up at the criss-crossing electric wires above them. “Anything yet?”

Sirius huffs and lifts his head to the sky as though to say “Heavens give me strength”, and Remus laughs under his breath. He runs his fingers through Sirius’ fur as he passes, his eyes finding the passage ahead of them. They’re getting close to the river, judging from the smell. Even Remus and his much less refined senses can tell that much.

A sudden movement at the end of the alley stops them both in their tracks. There’s a scuttling in the shadows, and a slide and shift of garbage scraps that culminates in the crash of a metal bin cover. Rats scurry in and out of the sodium lamplight, all glowing rodent eyes and whip-like tails. Sirius barks and bounds forward, and the rats squeal and flee the open alley until there’s nothing left of them but the faint pattering sounds of their feet in the pitch-dark corners. Sirius stares after them suspiciously, teeth bared.

“Sirius?” Remus says. He’s never seen him act like this towards rats before, and they’ve found plenty on their investigations.

Matter shifts in Sirius’ body, casting weird shadows on the brick walls, then he’s a man again, crouching low in the middle of the alley.

“Those rats,” he growls. “Something’s not right. But more than that--”

There’s a tremendous clatter as a dark shape barrels in from the right and crashes into Sirius, who yelps and goes sprawling in the trash heap. More rats scream and disperse, skittering wildly in the night. Some of them crawl over Remus’ shoes and he kicks out at them instinctively, his own magic sense going wild at the sudden proximity of such a huge magical presence.

Sirius growls fiercely and becomes a dog again, his large furred shadow terrifying in the slanted streetlamp light. The dog pounces, barreling over the attacker with a flash of teeth. They careen to the opposite side of the alley with a sound of solid bodies hitting brick. They scrabble and twist in the half-light, then there’s a burst of power that sends Sirius flying again, back among the bins. Sirius gives a high-pitched whimper and is still.

The attacker steps into the orange circle of light. He’s a tall, broad man with an eerie green light crackling right at his fingertips, magic so concentrated that Remus can see it with his naked eye. This is raw, directionless power, a brute force kind of magic. Not likely the kind that tortured and killed the victims of his case, but Remus isn’t taking any chances. He adopts a defensive stance, readying for the next move, and says in a familiar manner, “Evening, Rodolphus.”

The man named Rodolphus grins. “Hello, little wolf.”

He strikes with a speed that defies his bulk and sends a bolt of energy arcing across the alley. Remus dodges, feeling the magic cut through the trailing ends of his coat. He moves in closer as Rodolphus aims for him again. The power fizzes so close to Remus’ ear that he feels the heat of it tighten his skin, but he ducks forward instead of back, right into Rodolphus’ space. Before the big man can react, Remus surges upwards and plows his fist into the underside of his chin, giving out an animal snarl as he channels all the power he can grasp into the blow.

Rodolphus reels back and stumbles against the brick wall, momentarily dazed. Remus closes in on him with unnatural speed and strikes him with his other fist, sending him flying into a pile of moldy wooden pallets down the alley, where he lands with a mighty crash and splintering of wood.

Remus stands a moment to check his chances, but when Rodolphus only groans and flops his arms uselessly, he runs straight for Sirius. With a grunt, he pulls him out of the mess of garbage and abandoned construction materials, brushing away splinters and dirt. The damage to his body is so great that he can’t hold the dog form. His human face looks wan and bruised, but he’s breathing at least, and that gives Remus a little more hope.

“Sirius,” he calls. He drags him farther out of the heap. “Sirius, come on, we need to get out of he--”

Something grabs Remus by the back of the collar and suddenly he’s in the air. His world is a mad carrousel of night sky and city lights and rushing wind before he lands, painfully, some fifty feet away. He rolls and rolls and finally comes to a stop on gritty concrete, gasping with pain. The dirt and water smell of the Thames is stronger than ever, the sloshing sound of it filling his mind as the pain of his injuries tries to take over.

He tries to stand, but his whole body resists him. He grabs some of his power and forces himself to move. The animal inside him growls in anticipation, and it takes him a moment to realize the sound has come from his own mouth. He clamps his lips shut, pushing back against the wolf within. _Don’t come out, don’t come out, I can’t--_

There’s the sound of a step then Remus is grabbed again, this time by the neck. Rodolphus hoists him into the air with one hand, green lightning leaping over his skin. Remus pulls at the fingers holding him tight, but Rodolphus’ grip is vise-like, slowly choking him.

Rodolphus lifts him up to the moonlight as though observing a particularly interesting insect. “You’ve learned to control it.”

Remus tries to kick him in the ribs but the attempt is weak, and Rodolphus laughs. “Not quite, then. Not exactly at your beck and call, is he? The wolf. They’re tricky things.”

Rodolphus tosses him again. Remus lands with a crunch and scream of pain. His left arm feels lit with a searing fire that has nothing to do with magic.

Rodolphus stomps up in his big boots and seizes Remus by the collar as he passes. He drags him across the creaky wooden dock, talking conversationally all the while. “You should be a little more like Greyback, you know. He doesn’t control it because he doesn’t _try_. It’s loads easier when you just let the wolf do all the work, or so I’m told.”

He stops. Through the haze of pain, Remus can feel the end of the quay swaying, and the water smells so close he can taste it through the blood in his mouth. Rodolphus casually swings him up and holds him aloft again. This time, Remus doesn’t resist.

“But then again,” Rodolphus continues, with an air of false concern, “Greyback really likes to kill people. I suppose it’s not the same for you? Unless you’ve been lying to us this whole time.”

Remus hangs from his fist, his eyes half-lidded.

“You could still join us, you know. We can make you strong. You won’t ever be hunted again.”

“No thanks,” Remus spits. With the last of his strength, he grabs onto Rodolphus’ arm with his remaining hand and twists so hard the bone snaps, and Rodolphus howls in pain. His hand opens and Remus falls to the quay, landing hard on his injured arm. The wolf inside him thrashes and flails, crashing over and over into the bars of the wrought iron cage of his chest.

“You fool!” Rodolphus screams at him. “It’s our time now! Don’t blame me when you’re left out of it!”

He kicks with his booted foot and strikes Remus right in the gut, sending him crashing into the Thames’ dark waters.

=====

Pain. Rustling. Cold. Need to get up, need to get out-- _Remus_.

Sirius sits up with a jolt, every single muscle protesting the sudden movement. The alley is deserted, with not even the skitter of a rat to break the dense quiet.

He transforms. For a moment, he’s not sure if he can. His head throbs and his eyes burn and his bones and muscles creak and ache but he does it. The world comes back into focus.

He sniffs. Mud, ink, tea, sweat. Remus. But something else too. Fear, anger, rage, blood. Magic. Two kinds of magic, their scents distinct. Remus, angry, fighting. And another.

Sirius bares his teeth in a snarl. _Lestrange_.

He sets off at a run, following Remus’ familiar scent, now distorted with fear and spilt blood. The smell of the Thames should be overwhelming to his ultra-sensitive nose but he’s learned to push it away, to keep following the trail. Across the dock, down the quay-- _there_.

Rodolphus Lestrange, height and bulk and stink unmistakable. There’s a whiff of blood and pain from him, and in his man’s mind Sirius feels a fierce joy at that, that Remus was able to stand up to him.

But here, the trail ends. Mud, ink, tea, sweat--nothing. Nothing but the smell of wet dirt and damp wood and garbage and water--

The water.

Sirius pounces, baying like a hound from hell, and latches onto Rodolphus’ arm with his powerful jaws before he can so much as startle. Rodolphus yells with shock and agony and tries desperately to shake him off, but Sirius is strong in this form and he holds on, tasting his enemy’s blood between his teeth.

Rodolphus slams him down on the wooden pier once, twice. The third time Sirius has to let go, though he makes sure to let flesh tear through his jaws as he releases. His skull is ringing but he gets up and barks again as Rodolphus stumbles up the quay.

“Bloody hell,” Rodolphus gasps, clutching his mangled arm. “That you, cousin? You’re even mangier than the last time I saw you. Even Bella thought you were dead.”

Sirius wants to correct him to “cousin-in-law”, but doesn’t bother expending the energy turning back. He turns to glance into the water, but his eyes are too weak in this form to discern anything past the brown, murky deep.

His ears perk up as the sound of police sirens erupt in the night. Rodolphus looks up too.

“Time’s up,” he says.

He leaves as quickly as his injured body will take him. Sirius could chase him down easily but he needs to get to Remus, or Remus will--

Human shapes begin to move onto the dock from the alley. Most of the scents Sirius only vaguely knows, but among them is the stronger coffee-paper-concrete-shaving cream smell of Detective Inspector James Potter. And beside him--

Inside his man’s mind, Sirius curses. Another problem to deal with, but there’s no time. He barks and barks, thunderously loud, until the police come running with DI Potter at their head.

“It’s the dog,” Potter says blankly. “Oi, mutt, where’s Lupin?”

Sirius barks once more, then turns and leaps into the Thames.

=====

Remus coughs and spits out foul river water. An ecstatic barking fills his consciousness, as does an exquisite pain in his left arm.

“Steady, lad,” says a familiar voice. “Steady, mutt! He’s alive, all right?”

Suddenly there’s a wet, warm, furry thing right next to his face, and Remus can’t help laughing even as he’s coughing out more of the Thames than he’s ever cared to have in his body. “Sirius--you’re--”

“This is pretty serious, I’d say,” says the person next to him.

Remus blinks and focuses slowly on DI Potter, who is kneeling at his side and looking sternly down at him.

“Oh. Yes.” Remus coughs some more, weakly. “Rather serious.”

Sirius barks joyfully, pressing his bedraggled self close to Remus. Remus hisses when he jostles his injured arm and Sirius pulls back, concern in his doggy eyes.

“No, it’s--it’s all right,” Remus says.

“Like hell it is,” Potter says heatedly. “What do you think you're doing, getting yourself almost killed? I told you I could give you backup if you needed it, you stup--”

Sirius bares his teeth fiercely and growls at Potter, and Potter shuffles back on his knees, his hands up.

Remus says, “Hey. Leave off. It’s all right. No time,” he says to Potter. “Ran into--an old enemy, you could say. Rodolphus Lestrange.”

“Lestrange? That rings a bell…”

“He and his wife and brother were involved in a string of murders of non-magicals up north. I never did manage to catch them--”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Potter says abruptly. “Nasty scenes, if I’m remembering the case reports correctly.” He sits back on his heels, unheeding of his coat trailing in the wet sand of the Thames beach, and looks at Remus with concern. “You never did say why you keep agreeing to work on these cases. Seems more trouble than it’s worth, even for a bloke who can do what you can.”

Remus looks away, trying to seem occupied with cradling his broken arm in a way that relieves the pain. Sirius licks him on the cheek in a supportive kind of way. Remus smiles at him wanly. Potter watches them then shakes his head, probably deciding that the relations of man and dog will forever remain a mystery to him.

“Anyway.” He stands, brushing off his coat cursorily. “That’s enough of that. Let’s get you cleaned up and mended. I’ll need a full report of what went on here once you’re feeling better.”

“Of course.”

DI Potter calls the paramedic over. The lad approaches nervously, eyeing the huge black dog and Remus himself with equal wariness, but finally comes when Potter beckons impatiently. He kneels to help Remus peel off his ruined coat, but doesn't touch him any more than necessary, even when Remus grits his teeth against the pain so hard they grind.

"Broken," the young medic says.

Sirius growls as though to say "obviously", baring his teeth with a mean sort of glee when the medic recoils.

"Padfoot," Remus says wearily, "that's enough."

Sirius desists just long enough for the medic to splint Remus' arm and to recommend he get to a hospital for a proper cast as soon as possible, then chases the frightened boy away with a grunt and a swipe of one big paw.

Remus rolls his eyes. "Must you?"

Sirius looks up at him imploringly, then tugs on the edge of Remus' coat with his teeth. The look in his dog's eyes is the sharp, calculating one of a man's, and despite being surrounded by his allies, Remus feels dread descend upon him like a haze.

"What is it?" he murmurs. "Let's go find somewhere to--"

“Excuse me? Mr. Lupin? Excuse me!”

Sirius makes a doggy “oh God” sound as a young woman dressed all in green runs up to meet them, the heels of her shoes hitting the concrete with precise clicks. Only a lifetime of habit lets Remus drag a polite smile onto his face. “Ms. Skeeter.”

“Oh, you remember me!” Rita Skeeter gushes, the lenses of her cat eye glasses flashing in the light of the streetlamps. She is possibly the most persistent and most annoying reporter in all of London. “How have you and that adorable puppy been, Mr. Lupin?”

“Been better, all things conside--”

“So, any comments on the scene here tonight?” She’s already written half a page of notes in the pad of paper that somehow just materialized in her hand. “Looks like something _terrible_ went down, judging from the look of you!”

“I wouldn’t say tha--”

“There’s something a bit unnatural with all the Yard’s business of late, don’t you think? I’ve been following your cases, you know.” Ms. Skeeter points her pen right at Remus’ face and winks knowingly. “Spectacular crime scenes, peculiar circumstances, lost trails. Quite a few of them. _Mysterious_ stuff, eh? Almost--magical in nature, wouldn’t you say?”

Remus has half a mind to jump back into the Thames. “I wouldn’t say! In fact, I would much rather not say. Anything. At all.”

“Oh, well that’s all right, that’s all right. Bit of a rough night, eh, puppy?” Ms. Skeeter bends to pat Sirius on the head. Sirius gives her a doleful look.

“Very sorry to cut this short, Miss,” Remus says, “but we’re in a bit of a hurry. In need of medical attention and all that.”

“Of course, of course, don’t let me keep you!” Ms. Skeeter says, as though they have a choice. “Run along and get some rest! Goodnight, Mr. Lupin! Goodnight, puppy!”

She hurries off in a frenzy of clicking heels, probably to bother the Detective Inspector. Sirius sighs heavily.

“Agreed,” says Remus.

"Lupin! Oh thank God."

If Sirius could curse right now, he clearly would. As it stands, all he does is whimper dramatically as Sergeant Peter Pettigrew jogs up to them, his round face pale and sweating.

"Heard you were hurt," he pants. "Glad you're otherwise all right, though."

Remus forces another smile, pulling his arm in close despite the shooting pain. He can already feel the bone and muscle knitting itself back together. It'll be excruciating in about an hour as the process reaches its fastest point, but in his experience, his quick healing has always been more of a boon than a curse. Another mixed blessing given to him by the wolf he keeps caged inside. Nothing short of another wolf's strength will ever completely destroy him, though many other things have tried.

Sergeant Pettigrew peers at his splinted arm worriedly, as though he can see the healing magic at work if he stares hard enough. "Looks bad. How about we get you to a hospital as soon as possible? I'll get one of the lads to take you."

"Thank you, sergeant, but I think I'll manage."

Sirius has gone strangely quiet next to him. His warm flank, where it is pressed against Remus' hip, is rigid with alertness, and his snout is raised in an imitation of human scrutiny. He's staring right at Pettigrew. After a moment, Pettigrew notices, and smiles nervously, sweating worse than ever.

"It's all right, doggy," he says. "All out of danger now. We made sure of that."

Sirius begins to growl, his lip lifting to slowly reveal his sharp canine teeth. Pettigrew makes a noise of alarm.

"Don't mind him," Remus says quickly. "Look, thanks for all your help, but we'll just be going now, if that's all right."

"The hospital--"

"We'll find our own way--"

"But I insist--"

"No need!" Remus says with desperate cheer. "I'll be right as rain in a bit! Just have to walk it off! Come along, Padfoot."

He turns tail and heads off the docks, Sirius' heavy steps beside him. Pettigrew doesn't follow them, but Remus can feel his gaze burning into his back.

They hurry back into one of the dockside backalleys until they break the police’s line of sight. Sirius surges to his feet and changes back into a man with a grunt of effort. He looks pale and drawn, and even with his human’s nose Remus can smell blood on him.

“Be careful,” he chastises. “If you change too fast, you could--”

“No time!” Sirius whirls and grabs him by his uninjured arm. “Didn’t you sense it? It’s him. The rat. The reason why all the trails have been going cold.”

“What?”

“The rat! That rat Pettigrew! He is _literally_ a rat! I smelled him just before Rodolphus attacked! It’s faint, really faint. He has barely any power, but it’s there.”

Remus does remember Sirius saying something was off about the rats, but he hadn’t had time to check with his own senses before Rodolphus’ much larger presence had overridden everything else.

“So,” Remus says slowly, “he’s like you, then? He can change his shape?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you! And let me just say that really doesn’t say much about the screening processes of your Scotland Yard.”

“The screenings are a recent thing. Pettigrew’s been on the force for years.” Remus thinks for a while, ignoring the increasingly urgent throbbing in his rapidly healing arm. “Someone in his position would be well-placed to manipulate evidence, but why would he? He and Detective Inspector Potter have been fighting these crimes ever since they started becoming public.”

“Because he’s a rat bastard?” Sirius growls. “Why else do people like us kill non-magicals and leave their corpses for the police to find?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself too,” Remus murmurs.

Sirius’ expression softens in concern, but he steels himself and turns away. “I’m going to follow the trail again. You go home and rest.”

“I’ll go with you--”

“No!” Sirius snaps, his voice surprisingly loud in the stillness of the alley. “You’re hurt. If we find Rodolphus or, God forbid, my cousin at the end of that trail, I don’t want you getting in the middle of it.”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Remus says stiffly, “I’m already in the middle of it. And I heal a hell of a lot faster than you do. I’m going.”

Sirius snarls in aggravation as he transforms and doesn’t wait before bounding deeper into the alley, his nose to the ground. Remus follows as quickly as he can, clutching his arm close as his nerves burn with self-healing magic, and tries not to feel the hardening knot of anxiety in his stomach.

=====

They follow the remnants of the trail until morning breaks over the grey rooftops, but no one else comes leaping out of the shadows at them, and eventually they are forced to stop.

A fog comes with the dreary new day, dense enough to muffle the senses. Streetlamps stand as useless sentinels, their light too diffused to see by. The streets feel cold and dead, despite the buzz of passing vehicles.

Remus drags himself up the steps leading to the flat, Sirius trailing behind him. His right hand fumbles the key on the way to the lock, so he switches to his dominant left hand, despite the still-healing flesh and bone. The hand responds, thankfully, and though the nerves twinge painfully, the arm seems intact.

Remus pauses with the key in the lock to check on the wolf. It seems to have gone to sleep for the time being. Remus exhales a slow breath of relief.

He lets them in, holding the door open for Sirius so he can pad inside. His tail and ears droop with weariness and disappointment. Remus knows the feeling.

He closes the door, locks it, then turns and leans his back against it. As he slides slowly down the door and to the floor, Sirius turns and whimpers plaintively, his worry evident even on his dog’s face. He changes back as Remus’ vision fades, his eyes closing of their own accord.

“Bloody fool,” he hears Sirius say, distantly. “Told you to stay--know it tires you out to heal--”

“I’m sorry,” Remus murmurs. “I just wanted to…”

“Ssh. Quiet, now. Let’s get you to bed.”

Remus can’t open his eyes anymore so he just lets go, lets Sirius pick him up and carry him down the hall to his room, where the cool sheets still lie mussed and unmade from their lovemaking that morning. Sirius lays him down, carefully making sure his newly-healed arm isn’t jostled or laid upon, tugs off his shoes, and tucks him in. His palm is warm against Remus’ forehead. He smells like dog, and river water, and smoke. Like the city streets.

Remus sleeps.

=====

Sirius sits on the edge of the bed, watching him breathe, for a long time.

Eventually, he makes himself stand and changes into the dog. He prowls around the flat, sniffing every corner, trailing every wire. He searches patiently under furniture and inside the cabinets under the kitchen sink. There isn’t a whiff of magic about the place, save for the kind he and Remus exude, but that’s a comforting scent, a warm thing that feels secret and safe.

Satisfied, he resumes his human form and goes to wash up. The creaking of the pipes is a familiar and soothing sound. It sounds like home, or the closest thing he’s had to it.

He stands in the bathroom for a while, naked, simply enjoying the feeling of being clean. He can hear Remus breathing in the next room and knows he’ll be sleeping for a while. He always does after healing, and after long nights like this one.

On the fogged-up bathroom mirror, Sirius writes “SB + RL”, listening intently to the squeaking sounds his finger makes against the glass. He tries not to grin at his handiwork and fails.

The kitchen smells familiar too, like coffee grinds (his) and black tea (Remus’). He makes beans on toast and eats slowly. He tries some of Remus’ favourite tea blend, and as usual, can’t quite make himself like it, but he finishes it all anyway.

Then, cleaned and fed, Sirius makes his way quietly back to the bedroom. He stays there only briefly, long enough to check on Remus’ arm: fully healed, with nothing but a faint scar where the worst of the damage had been. Magic as powerful as that had a price, but Sirius knows the scars aren’t the worst of it.

He leaves the room, letting the door stand just slightly ajar, and goes to sit at the kitchen table.

He folds his hands together, places them under his chin, and plans.

=====

Detective Inspector Potter’s mobile phone buzzes on his desk. He swivels his chair around to gaze at it wretchedly, but duty calls. Sometimes literally.

He answers: “Potter.”

“Detective Inspector. It’s Lupin.”

James turns his chair a bit more so he can prop his feet wearily up on the desk. “Yeah, I know.”

“Sorry to be calling so early. Or so late. I know you were probably out all night, but this couldn’t wait.”

“Go on, then.”

“The trail we were following last night. We found Rodolphus Lestrange, and it’s possible he’s involved, but he wasn’t the one who committed the Baker Street murders. Too much artistry for him.”

James really doesn’t like the idea of art being associated with crime, but he holds back any comment. Lupin is, after all, the expert.

“We found someone else too,” Lupin continues. “Sergeant Pettigrew.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We found him there by the Thames as we were following the trail. He was probably following us.”

James leans forward, pushing his feet off the desk and onto the floor. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is,” James replies tersely. “What exactly are you trying to imply about my officers?”

“I have nothing against the Yard, Detective Inspector, but I suspect Sergeant Pettigrew is the one who’s been misleading our investigations and keeping us from finding the ones responsible for these crimes.”

“You are making a very bold statement here, Lupin. You can’t just go accusing those under my command without proof.”

“I have none at the moment,” Lupin says blandly. “Only intuition.”

James presses the heel of his palm against his forehead, groaning. “Your intuition be damned! Have you been talking to Rita Skeeter again? If this gets out--”

“I haven’t said anything to anyone but you. I need your cooperation, Detective Inspector.”

“And you have it! Within reason. But this--this isn’t--it’s too much, Lupin! I won’t go distrusting my men based solely on your _intuition_.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, then Lupin makes a resigned noise. “Fine. But will you allow me time to gather proof?”

“Do what you want!” James snaps. “Just keep my officers out of it.”

He hangs up and tosses his mobile angrily onto the desk.

It’s ridiculous. The very thought that someone in his division would be working with the enemy--it makes him want to laugh.

But what if--what _if_ \--

No. It can’t be. He trusts his men. He trusts Peter. They’ve been on the force together for years. He’s excitable and has a bit of a weak stomach, but he had always been right there on the frontlines with him. As long as James was around to guide him, he would always come through, for the Yard and for him.

“Absurd,” James mutters on more time, before putting his feet back up on the desk. It’s best if he gets a bit of rest while he can. He has bigger things to worry about than his consultant’s intuition.

=====

A week passes. The trail, unattended, goes cold.

The police are having a press conference today to tell the public about the murderer they are still ardently pursuing. James sighs just thinking about it, watching his hands in the mirror as he knots his tie with a morose sort of habit.

At the kitchen table, Lily says, “James?”

James finishes with his tie and fetches himself another cup of coffee before answering: “S’all right, love.”

“Clearly not.” Lily frowns. “The press conference--”

“--is going to be fine. I practiced and everything.”

“James, do stop being wilfully obtuse and tell me what’s wrong.”

James sighs again, a sigh with the weight of a million sighs. Lily would roll her eyes any other day, but James’ expression is dire.

“This case,” James says finally, staring darkly into his coffee. “All of these cases. Something’s not right. There’s something missing.”

Lily puts her cup down on the table. “You mean besides the killer?”

“Yeah. There’s--argh, I just can’t put my finger on it. We were--we were so close, you know? So close that Lupin had that altercation--I really thought we had them this time--”

“But they slipped away.”

“That’s the thing! These damn magicals, whatever we do, they always seem to be one step ahead! And it--God.”

James thinks of his phone conversation with Lupin and frowns, pushing the thought away. If he can’t even trust his own men--

“James?” Lily stands and goes to him, placing a hand carefully on his arm. James doesn’t move, but continues to stare into his cup with frightening intensity.

“It’s--terrible,” he says with difficulty. “It’s--scary. I don’t want to think about what they’ll do next because we failed to stop them. Them and their bloody powers--even Lupin--”

“What about him?” Lily interrupts, with sudden sharpness.

James looks at her, confused. “Well, you know. He’s one of them too.”

“So?”

“‘So’?” James repeats incredulously. “Lily, I understand he’s your friend of sorts, but we can’t forget he’s--”

“Forget what?” Lily says heatedly. She takes her hand off his arm and steps back. “Forget that he’s on our side, that he’s been on our side from the beginning? That he constantly risks life and limb to bring bad people to justice and save lives? What other proof do you need that he’d never do the things your criminals do?”

“I’m not saying he _will_ , but you don’t know these people like I do--”

“I see what they do! I see it every day on my table! And I’m telling you, just because someone has the ability to do those things, doesn’t mean they will! Some of them--some of them are just scared.”

James looks at her in disbelief. “And how would you know?”

“Remus told me. He--” Lily stops and looks away to compose herself, then looks back. “He told me what I shouldn’t have needed to be told. That there’s good and bad in people no matter what abilities they have.” She glares at him. It’s the angriest he’s ever seen her, and they’ve been involved for a good long time. “So don’t you dare start believing that tripe about all magicals being bad.”

James makes a frustrated sound and turns, dumping his coffee unceremoniously in the sink. He drops the cup in the sink with a loud clunk of porcelain on stainless steel.

“James--”

“Just forget it,” James says tightly. “I need to go.”

He moves past her into the hall, where she can hear him stomping his boots on. She exhales with deliberate slowness through her nose.

“Be safe,” she calls to him, but he’s slammed the door and is already gone.

=====

The press conference hall is packed with reporters and other curious onlookers. The atmosphere is tense, all of the Scotland Yard faces drawn. Lupin looks palest of all, in his drab coat and with his left arm wrapped up in a cast and sling, for appearances’ sake. That huge dog of his is still next to him. James has no idea who let it in, but right now he doesn’t much care. The microphones at the head of the press conference table beckon, the press eyeing them -- and him -- with menacing promise.

“Time to face the music,” Peter mutters beside him.

The tension ratchets up as James makes his way to the table at the front of the room, camera eyes turning keenly towards him.

He sits and says, “Good morning.”

Everybody looks grim. He delivers his statement, being careful to not mention the magical nature of the crimes. He isn’t cleared to release that information to the public yet. It needles him, but he has his orders. Sergeant Pettigrew sits tensely next to him, saying nothing.

The press descend upon James with their usual questions after he’s done his bit. He fields every query, argument, and veiled taunt with as much grace as he’s capable. In the spaces between questions, he can’t help thinking of Lily and regretting having walked out of the flat the way he did this morning.

“Detective Inspector,” calls one reporter, the particularly young and vile Ms. Skeeter, “my exclusive sources say you’ve been working with an outside consultant for some time. Would you care to explain what this consultant does?”

“He consults,” James says curtly. “Sometimes we need an extra pair of eyes. Anything to get the job done.”

“Anything, Detective Inspector? Even if it means resorting to powers beyond our mortal comprehension?”

James’ heart kicks, but he manages to pull a politely blank rather than suspiciously stern expression onto his face. “I beg your pardon, madam?”

“You heard me.” Ms. Skeeter flutters her eyelashes. “Powers. Beyond mortal comprehension. Magic, in other words.”

James muscles on his very best I-don’t-have-time-for-this-next-question-please face, but the other reporters have already begun murmuring, some of them with derision, others with thoughtfulness. It seems Ms. Skeeter’s sources aren’t as exclusive as she thinks.

“That’s preposterous,” James says over the growing din. “Wherever did you hear such--”

“Well if it’s so preposterous, then you won’t mind me asking your wonderful consultant a few questions,” Ms. Skeeter interrupts sweetly, “no?”

“No! Absolutely not! He has no comment!”

“But surely--”

“Next question, please, if you have any that won’t waste the Yard’s ti--”

“It’s all right!” Lupin’s quiet but clear voice rings over the crowd, which immediately hushes itself into silence.

James almost knocks over one or two of the microphones as he half-stands to look over at Remus, who had spent the duration of the press conference seated in a chair behind and to the left of the table. Lupin stands slowly, his expression placid. The dog Padfoot sits quietly beside him, flopping its tail from side to side, almost like a human’s nervous tic.

“It’s all right, Detective Inspector,” Lupin says into the attentive silence.

He steps carefully off the podium elevating the table so he’s among the crowd. In the hall’s fluorescent lights, he looks wan and washed-out. There are circles under his eyes and his scars are stark against his skin, but when he smiles to the people, it’s genuine and warm.

“There are people in this world,” he says, “who are born with gifts beyond compare.”

James sits slowly back in his chair, counting the seconds to the end of his career.

“For example, Detective Inspector Potter,” Lupin says unexpectedly, to an excited intake of breath from the crowd, “is an incredibly skilled case man, one of the best I’ve ever met in my, admittedly, brief career as a consultant.”

Some of the audience members turn to look at him. James glares back.

“And you, Ms. Skeeter,” Lupin continues genially. Ms. Skeeter makes an affected “me?” gesture, to which Lupin responds with, “Yes. You are marked by the uncanny ability to uncover any story, no matter what the cost.”

“Well, of course,” Ms. Skeeter titters, pleased. There are knowing chuckles from the crowd.

Lupin grins at her and begins to pace down the central aisle, between the rows of folding plastic chairs. “So, gifts of intuition, gifts of courage, and gifts of luck. Gifts of wit and kindness and strength. I could go on.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a gift of getting to the point, mate?” someone interjects, to more laughter.

Lupin smiles gently. “Among others.”

Lupin pauses in the middle of the aisle and seems to gather his strength. James watches him with resignation, the morning’s coffee roiling in his gut.

“There are some people,” Lupin says quietly, slowly, “with a gift of magic.”

A flood of murmurs fills the conference hall. Ms. Skeeter is flushed with triumph. James slowly closes his eyes.

“That’s nonsense,” a reporter scoffs, and others rally the cry. Still others have already noticed how the detective inspector sits very quietly, no longer saying a word, even though the sergeant at his side stares at him pointedly, with beads of sweat staining his collar.

“There are specifics, of course,” Lupin adds. He has to raise his voice to be heard now. “You can’t do just anything. I, for example, do not have the ability to fly.”

“Then what can you do?” half a dozen voices demand.

The atmosphere has gotten festive. It’s a game, now. No one really believes, except for James, who knows it to be true, and for Peter, who sits next to him and sweats and says his name in an increasingly panicked whisper.

“Me?” Lupin seems surprised to be asked the question. “Well, let’s see--”

Lupin looks slowly around the hall, mapping every upturned face, every poised pen. He turns until he’s looking right back at the table where James and his officers sit.

“ _James!_ ” Peter squeaks in desperation.

“Me?” Lupin says with sudden gravity. “I smell a rat.”

There’s a tremendous bark from the dog. The press conference table shudders and crashes as Padfoot’s charge shoves it aside and halfway off the podium. Padfoot sprints across the hall, giving out great baying barks like cannon fire. Reporters leap out of its way as it hurtles through the rows of chairs, upending everything in its path in its mad chase.

“The doors!” Lupin roars.

Several officers react instinctively, yanking the hall’s doors shut on command. Lupin is off before James even has the time to stand, moving faster than James has ever seen a normal person do, vaulting over chairs and cowering reporters as he and his bloodhound quickly close in on--

\--a rat, just as he said. A great, grey rat with chewed up ears and a long whip-like tail, and with a high, squealing cry. Padfoot raises its shaggy head in victory as it holds the rat down with its two front paws, and no matter how the rat struggles and screams, it can’t escape.

“Crush him,” Lupin says flatly.

There’s a surge of magic and a shifting of flesh, and the rat-turned-man cries, “ _No!_ No, please!”

There, before the eyes of a roomful of reporters and half of Scotland Yard, the grey rat has shot up to human size to reveal Sergeant Peter Pettigrew, cowering on the floor between Lupin and his dog. Everyone in the hall is silent with shock, save for Peter himself, whose breaths come in shallow, panicked wheezes.

James looks at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, reaches under the table, retrieves one of the fallen microphones, and says, “No further comments.”

=====

“He’s not our man,” Remus says, “but it’s a start.”

The detective inspector sits heavily behind his desk and grunts. “Not an easy one.” Having to arrest one of his own men had left him understandably touchy for most of the day, but now that it’s evening, he only looks tired.

Sirius, still obstinately in dog form despite Remus’ encouragements to come clean to the DI at least, pads up behind Potter’s desk and lays his big head on his lap. His soulful dog eyes look up at him apologetically, and although Potter visibly does his best to keep a hard look on his face, he eventually relents and starts to scratch him behind the ears. Remus has to try very hard not to snigger.

“I guess,” Potter says gruffly, “I’ve been trusting the wrong people. Turns out Peter’s been impeding our investigations from the beginning. Tampering with evidence, making sure trails go cold, keeping an eye out using that rat shape of his. I should have seen it.”

“There’s no way you could have known,” Remus says gently. “I didn’t sense him until recently. The smell of magic is really faint on him. Even Padfoot didn’t realize he was there until he happened to come too close.” Remus chances a smile. “Luckily, he smells a lot stronger as a rat than as a man.”

The detective inspector ruminates on this for a while, absently scratching Sirius between the ears. Then, he says darkly, “So he’s one of them, the ones who try to hurt those like me. Why’d he do it?”

Remus looks away. “I don’t think it’s because he’s a bad person, necessarily. Maybe he was just afraid.”

“Lily mentioned you saying something about that.” Potter pauses to scratch Sirius a little more vigorously. “About you magicals being scared, I mean. What is it you’re so afraid of?”

Remus shrugs. “The same thing anyone’s afraid of when they’re different.”

He doesn’t elaborate and Potter doesn’t ask him to, though there’s a frown line between his eyes when he looks back down at Sirius. Sirius lets his head loll on Potter’s lap. He’s really playing up the dog act, though Remus has to admit that even as a man, he’s still kind of half puppy.

The thought makes him smile to himself, and though he tries to keep it secretive, Potter notices. He really is as sharp as Remus gave him credit for earlier. “Something funny?”

“Nothing at all,” Remus says cheerfully. “He likes you.”

“Yeah?” Potter actually cracks a smile at that, the first one Remus has seen on him in weeks. “Dogs are all right, I guess. And, er--” He strokes his fingers through Sirius’ shaggy fur for a while, then continues, “--so are wolves too. Sometimes.”

Remus leans his hip on Potter’s desk, crosses his arms, and smiles. “Is that so?”

“S’the truth.”

“Then I guess detectives aren’t so bad either. Sometimes.”

Potter grins, then yelps as Sirius stands up on his hind legs so he can reach his face, which he covers with enthusiastic swipes of his tongue. Remus laughs until his sides are sore, and doesn’t call off the attack until both he and Sirius are good and ready.

**The End**


End file.
